


It's Dangerous Business, Walking out Your Door

by accordingtomel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In many ways, Arthur was the only thing keeping his sanity intact, while simultaneously being one of the main sources for his inner turmoil. Which was why he needed to get away. He needed some perspective, some time to sort things out and get himself together again. It was only a matter of time before Arthur finally broke him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Dangerous Business, Walking out Your Door

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole thing started when I accidentally got [adelagia](http://adelagia.livejournal.com/)’s hopes up about a magic reveal in the series two finale (2x13). I promised her I would write a magic reveal fic if we didn’t get one, so this is simply me fulfilling my promise. I have absolutely no idea how it ended up being this long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Also, I need to thank my most fantastic friend and beta – [readthesubtext](http://readthesubtext.livejournal.com/) – for whipping this into shape and staying up until all hours of the night to do so. I’m indebted to you, my friend! Originally written in January, 2010.

* * *

****  
It’s Dangerous Business, Walking out Your Door  


 

Most Monday mornings began in the same way, Arthur realized one day, not so long ago.  He would wake up early to the obvious fact that his manservant was nowhere to be seen.  He would putter around the room, sometimes getting dressed, but sometimes making a bit of an extra mess for Merlin to clean up, just because he could, and because he liked to irritate Merlin on Monday mornings.  It was always so thoroughly entertaining, and had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Arthur kind of liked seeing his manservant hot under the collar when they argued.  Several hours later Merlin would usually show up with breakfast and a list of excuses as to why he hadn’t been there earlier ( _Gaius kept me up late last night_ ; _they were behind in the kitchens this morning_ ; _I accidentally slept in, you prat - don’t look so put upon_ ).  Arthur would chide him half-heartedly, Merlin would call him some disrespectful name, and Arthur would eat for a good ten minutes before finally asking Merlin if he wanted to have some food as well.

 

It was this predictability that helped Arthur in times of chaos and change, and it had been a particular comfort after Morgana’s disappearance.

 

So, when Merlin failed to show up for breakfast on this particular Monday morning, Arthur was left feeling slightly out of sorts.  However, he didn’t think too much of it, seeing as how it wasn’t exactly uncommon for Merlin to be late.

 

Admittedly, though, all felt right in the world again when Merlin finally entered the Prince’s bedchambers that morning, shortly after breakfast had been served, and announced, “Arthur, I need to talk to you.”

 

Arthur briefly debated throwing back a reminder about how manservants didn’t get to make those kinds of decisions, but quickly tossed the thought aside.  They had long since moved past the point where any sort of typical master/servant relationship could be expected.  Truth be told, he was fine with that arrangement behind closed doors.  He’d recently told Merlin that they couldn’t be friends due to the differences in social class between them, but they both knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.  Merlin was the truest friend Arthur had ever had, and perhaps even cared _too_ much for him.  However, Merlin usually only started sentences in that impertinent manner when it actually _was_ important; or at least when he believed it to be.

 

Arthur turned from his perch by the window to meet his manservant’s gaze.  He had planned on tossing some sort of sarcastic comment back at Merlin, but one look at the other man’s face stopped that plan dead in its tracks.  Merlin’s eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles surrounding them as if he hadn’t slept in days; his skin pale and almost sickly.  The gleam that was usually present in his expression was noticeably absent, and his body appeared more slumped than usual, as if he were literally carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. With his clothes tussled and hanging off of his thin frame, Merlin looked, in short, _awful_.

 

“Is everything all right?” Arthur asked instead, his voice teetering on the side of cautious concern as he made his way over to Merlin.

 

“I wanted to ask you for a temporary leave of absence,” Merlin informed him, averting his gaze to the ground momentarily.  It was an almost alarmingly subservient gesture, and something about the question and accompanying behaviour bothered Arthur.

 

He folded his arms casually across his chest, trying his best to push down the spike of anxiety that had just arisen in the pit of his stomach.  “What for?”

 

There was a long pause.  “I need to go to Ealdor to see my Mother,” he finally answered, gaze still focused somewhere on the floor.

 

Alarm bells immediately began ringing in Arthur’s head.  “Why?  Has something happened to Hunith?”

 

Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s then, widening into large saucers as he shook his head adamantly.  “No, she’s fine…”  He trailed off, sounding uncertain.

 

“But?” Arthur prodded gently.  There was more there that was being left unsaid.  That much was obvious.

 

Merlin finally began awkwardly clearing away the breakfast dishes, though it was obvious his mind was far away from the task at hand.

 

“I just need to go see her.  It’s been almost a year since the last time I saw my Mum.”  He said it with an air of finality, as if he had no intention of elaborating further, and Arthur simply nodded after a moment.

 

“How long do you need?”

 

Merlin’s hands froze and he glanced up, shooting Arthur a look of mild disbelief, as if he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.  “A week.  Maybe two,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if it were no big deal, even though Arthur knew otherwise.

 

It was true that Merlin hadn’t seen his Mother in close to a year, and Arthur knew they were close to one another.  What harm would a short visit do?  Truthfully, Arthur hated it when Merlin wasn’t around, even though he complained about him all the time when he _was_ there.  It was why he always insisted on bringing him everywhere he went;  why Merlin rode up front with him, always ate and slept nearest to him, and why he permitted his manservant to walk alongside him instead of behind him, as was customary with a traditional master/servant relationship.  It was incredibly hard to converse with someone who was several paces behind you.  In spite of the fact that his knights could be quite entertaining, Arthur could only ever truly be himself around Merlin.  It was the only place in the world that he didn’t need to be Prince Arthur Pendragon, and could simply be Arthur the man.  So the thought of losing Merlin for up to two weeks was not an appealing one.  At the same time, there had been something troubling Merlin for weeks, if not months, and if this could possibly help, then he was willing to suffer the consequences.  Not that he would share this sentiment with Merlin, of course.

 

Arthur had always been protective of those he cared for – Morgana, his Father, his knights, and the citizens of Camelot to a somewhat lesser extent.  His heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to protect Morgana when she needed him most, and Arthur was not going to allow the same thing to happen to Merlin.

 

“All right,” he said at long last.

 

Merlin looked temporarily taken aback.  “Really?”

 

Arthur supposed he should be offended that Merlin thought he wouldn’t be gracious enough to permit him to go on a leave home, but instead he simply shrugged.  “You asked, and it’s been a while since you’ve seen Hunith.  I’m not a heartless monster, you know?”  He grinned, holding up a finger to stem any unnecessary comments from his manservant.

 

“Now that that’s been cleared up, have you seen the state of my chambers lately, Merlin?” Arthur asked, gesturing with a grand flourish to the room behind him.

 

Merlin smiled at him then, the first genuine smile he’d seen on his servant in days, if not weeks, and Arthur felt something swell within his chest.  Something like affection and a fierce determination to keep Merlin  safe at all costs.  Arthur smiled back and fought the almost overwhelming urge to tie his manservant  up in order to ensure that he remained in Arthur’s sight at all times.  Except that probably wouldn’t go over too well, he figured.  Instead, Arthur did the next best thing: “Well, let’s get on with it then.  Do you need an invitation or something?”

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Later that evening, as Merlin packed for his journey, he started to question whether or not he was doing the right thing.  He had never been one to run from his problems, but life these days felt almost too overwhelming for him to bear.  His heart ached in so many ways, sorrow filling every pore of his being until he felt as though his body was literally secreting his inner agony in a twisted physical manifestation of the misery he felt.  In spite of the occasional reprieve from his thoughts and memories, every day Merlin found it harder and harder to put on a brave face and pretend that everything was all right when it couldn’t have been further from the truth.  He had withdrawn from everyone save for Arthur, though even the sight of his friend did little to quell the heaviness in his heart, especially given the fact that Arthur still didn’t know about his magic.  This truth weighed ever heavy on his shoulders, and Merlin sometimes wondered if he’d even be able to tell Arthur anything in the near future for fear of losing him.  In many ways, Arthur was the only thing keeping his sanity intact, while simultaneously being one of the main sources for his inner turmoil.  Which was why he needed to get away.  He needed some perspective, some time to sort things out and get himself together again.  It was only a matter of time before Arthur finally broke him, and Merlin was not in any sort of emotional state to handle such a thing at the moment.

 

Merlin knew that his Mother would be able to help him gain some much-needed perspective.  Camelot was his home now, but Ealdor would always hold a special place in his heart, and he always found it easier to sort through his thoughts out in the country.  Plus, his Mum had a right to know what had happened to his Father, and Merlin wanted the news to come from him and no one else.

 

A voice startled him out of his reverie.  “Merlin, my boy, why are you packing?”

 

Merlin turned suddenly, surprised to hear Gaius’ voice from his bedroom door.  Merlin had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed his mentor’s return.

 

“I’m going to visit Ealdor and my Mother for a couple of weeks,” he replied, returning his attention to the bag he was stuffing full of clothes and other items.

 

“Does Arthur know you’re leaving?” Gaius asked, taking a few more steps into the room.  Merlin pushed down a sigh, feeling slightly (though mostly irrationally) irritated with the question.  What did Gaius assume he was doing, running away?

 

He took a deep, calming breath before responding.  “Of course he does.  We spoke about it this morning.”

 

Gaius grunted his acknowledgement but remained otherwise silent.  After several minutes of silence from that corner of the room, Merlin assumed that Gaius had gone back to work and proceeded to shove the rest of his belongings into his bags, doing his best to avoid thinking about anything in particular.  Except that it was easier said than done.  Merlin was nearly finished when his gaze fell upon the dragon that Balinor had carved for him, and without thinking, he snatched up the carving, running his fingers over it reverently.  It was both the first and the last remaining connection he had with his Father, and the injustice of it all hurt like a stab wound directly to his heart.  Merlin bent forward, placing his hands on the bed in front of him and splaying his fingers between the rough fabric in an attempt to diminish the overwhelming sense of sadness that had suddenly befallen him.

 

"Melrin, are you okay?" Gaius asked softly, and Merlin started, not having realised that the other man was still in the room. Merlin instictively angled his back towards the older man to prevent himself from being seen and, squeezing his eyes shut, concentrated on willing away the sorrow that was threatening to choke him.

 

"No," he admitted honestly a few moments later. "I'm not." And he continued to pack.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Arthur was not usually one to suffer from insomnia, but in times of great stress he was known to have experienced such unpleasantries.  At age five, Arthur’s first dog had passed away, leaving him in tears for the better part of the day (until his Father informed him that Princes did not show such weaknesses and insisted that he stop crying immediately).  He hadn’t slept that night.  At the tender age of eight, Arthur’s curiosity finally got the better of him and he stealthily followed the Knights of Camelot on one of their top-secret missions, hoping to determine what they got up to outside of the castle walls. His enjoyment rapidly diminished, however, when a bunch of bandits chose that particular morning to lay siege to the city, and Arthur was forced to look on in horror as one of his Father’s loyal soldiers was slain right in front of him. He hadn’t slept for two whole nights that time around.  One time, at age twelve, he’d gotten into a dreadful fight with Morgana, to the point where she decided that she would be better off living on her own than staying in Camelot with such an insufferable, arrogant arse of a Prince.  Morgana had run away that very day and they hadn’t found her until the following morning.  Needless to say, he hadn’t slept that night either, in spite of being forbidden from aiding in the search.

 

In the past couple of months, however, Arthur had experienced insomnia at least once or twice a week, sometimes for more than one consecutive night.  After he’d sent Merlin away from Camelot, after Gaius’ imprisonment and near execution, after the incident with Morgause and his Mother, after Morgana’s disappearance, and finally after his final battle with the dragon – all of these events had inspired sleepless nights, to the point where Arthur was beginning to get used to functioning on minimal amounts of rest.

 

His only reprieve had occurred approximately a week ago, when Merlin accidentally fell asleep at the end of his bed, and Arthur hadn’t the heart to wake him.  After several long moments of contemplation, Arthur eventually decided that Merlin could stay, placed an extra blanket over his sleeping form and carefully crawled into bed, taking extreme care not to disturb Merlin’s slumber.  When Arthur awoke the next morning, Merlin was gone, but it had been the best night’s sleep he’d had in weeks, even if he was loath to ruminate over the reasons why.

 

All he knew for certain was that he couldn’t sleep now, and there was no specific rhyme or reason to explain why.  Other than the fact that Merlin was leaving tomorrow morning, and the thought of having to face the daily grind without his incompetent, frustrating, though inexplicably endearing manservant for the better part of a fortnight left him with a dull ache in his chest.  That was obviously not the reason for his current state of sleeplessness, though, he reasoned quite effectively.  And there was definitely not the added element of concern for Merlin’s own mental state these days.  He had witnessed Merlin frown, and seen his tear-filled eyes more times in the last few months than he cared to experience in a lifetime.  Possibly the most frustrating aspect of it all was the fact that Merlin wouldn’t let him in – wouldn’t even let him _help_.  It made no logical sense in Arthur’s eyes.  Did the man not trust him?  Yet when he considered everything that had happened over the past year, Arthur supposed that he hadn’t exactly been the best friend to Merlin all the time.  Still...he’d defended Merlin against the Witchfinder and his Father, stood up for him in court, broken the law, and disobeyed direct orders from his Father in order to protect him.  Hell, Arthur had even taken to joining Merlin on the floor of his chamber when he felt the situation warranted the action.  Not that he thought this was some outstanding feat in and of itself, but Arthur had yet to meet a noble who would sit on the floor voluntarily, never mind for the sake of a servant.  Did Merlin not understand that there was nothing Arthur would not do for him, in spite of his sometimes contradictory behaviour?  It was a puzzling and somewhat bothersome line of thought.

 

After far too many minutes spent contemplating these very things, Arthur decided to at least make himself productive if he was not going to be getting any sleep tonight.  Standing, he headed down to the Great Hall to gather some reports and complaints to review in preparation for the council meeting tomorrow afternoon.  Perhaps he’d be able to get some much-needed rest during _that_ meeting, Arthur thought wryly to himself.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

In the end, Arthur eventually fell asleep for an hour or two, if the drool stain on the table by his head was any indication.  However, he did not feel the least bit rested and was still wide-awake before the first signs of dawn even became visible.  So Arthur did what he always did in these situations – he paced back and forth in his rooms until that got boring.  Then, once the sun had just begun to rise, he dressed himself with the intention of going to the training grounds to get in some early morning practice.

 

Arthur was promptly distracted, however, when he noticed someone in the distance heading towards the stables wearing a distinct blue shirt and red neckerchief.  _Merlin_.  Arthur veered off course and headed towards the direction of the stables instead, taking care to ensure Merlin wasn’t aware that he was being followed or watched.  He watched for a few minutes as Merlin began to prepare his horse to ride out.  Well, it wasn’t technically Merlin’s horse as Arthur wasn’t officially allowed to just give his manservant something so extravagant.  But unofficially it belonged to him; Merlin was the only one who rode the thing.  Arthur had made it quite clear fairly early on that the horse must always be on hand for Merlin’s use in case there was ever an emergency and he needed to ride out with Arthur, and thus far no one had raised any qualms about the arrangement.

 

Consequently, Merlin hadn’t actually asked permission to take the horse with him to Ealdor, though Arthur found it oddly comforting that he’d made the assumption on his own.  Of course Arthur would have granted him permission to take the horse, as walking would have added several extra days travel time (days Arthur certainly did not want to spend without him), but Arthur knew that he would have sacked any of his previous servants for such a bold action.  Arthur liked to believe that this change in his reaction showed personal growth in his character, but if he was honest with himself, it was more likely a product of the fact that he let Merlin get away with far more than propriety dictated.  Why that was, however, was another story all together.

 

“Leaving without saying good-bye?” Arthur queried after he decided he’d kept silent long enough, sauntering casually up to Merlin with a single brow quirked.

 

Merlin jumped slightly from where he was preparing his horse but turned towards Arthur’s voice immediately, a soft smile on his face.  “I’m surprised you’re up this early,” he stated pointedly, but not actually answering the question that had been asked.

 

“I woke up early,” Arthur lied.  Merlin didn’t need to know the reason why he was awake, simply that he was.

 

Merlin shrugged and continued to finish securing the saddle on his horse, seemingly accepting the explanation at face value.  “Well thanks for coming to see me off then,” he said finally.

 

Arthur watched Merlin work, nimble fingers flying over buckles and belts with ease.

 

“Merlin, wait,” Arthur called out impulsively, as his manservant was about to mount his horse, and Merlin turned to glance quizzically behind him.

 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, or what specifically propelled him into action, but something felt right about it.  Arthur strode towards Merlin and before he could change his mind, pulled his manservant into his arms.  At first he felt Merlin tense up – which was understandable, considering the fact that Arthur was not in the habit of hugging his manservant.  After a few moments, however, he seemed to relax into the embrace, arms coming up to rest against Arthur’s back as he lightly squeezed back.  Arthur wanted to say something, anything, to Merlin to explain what he was doing, but there was a voice in the back of his head that instructed him to remain silent; that now wasn’t the time.  So, instead, Arthur hugged Merlin tightly, probably holding onto him longer than was strictly necessary, but knowing that they both needed this more than they were likely even aware.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Merlin was smiling, but there was still something haunting about his eyes.  It was the same look he’d seen many times over the past couple of months, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to wash away that expression forever.  It made him anxious; worried.  And even more importantly, the sorrow he saw in Merlin’s eyes was somehow reflected back onto Arthur, filling him with an overwhelming need to protect Merlin from whatever demons he was fighting.  Except that he couldn’t protect Merlin when the man wouldn’t let him in, and if he were being honest with himself, Arthur would admit that it hurt him just a bit that Merlin didn’t feel he could trust Arthur with whatever this was.

 

Realising that Merlin was waiting for him to say something, Arthur clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, staring at him intently.  “Take care of yourself, all right?”

 

Merlin eyed him, questions swimming beneath the surface, but he simply nodded and smiled tightly.  “I will,” he promised.  Arthur squeezed his shoulder gently in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and nodded as well, releasing his manservant from his grip.  Merlin mounted his steed and cast one last look at Arthur before heading in the direction of Ealdor.

 

Arthur stood and watched the horse trot away, waiting until he could no longer see Merlin at all before quietly heading out to the training grounds with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Travel home went a lot quicker than Merlin had originally anticipated, and he was grateful for once to be traveling on his own.  Even though Arthur was a far more experienced rider, trips always took longer when he was around, simply because they needed to stop more often, and because their tendency to argue often slowed progress.

 

Ealdor was, by all appearances, exactly the same as it had been the last time Merlin had been home just over a year ago.  It was both a comfort and a shock to find that so little had truly changed.  He had called Camelot his home for more than two years now, and if there was one thing that could be said about the city, it was that things rarely stayed the same for more than a week or two.  It was a shock to the system, without a doubt, but at the same time, it provided Merlin with the exact sense of stability that he was so desperately craving.  It felt like eons ago that he and Will were boys causing all kinds of mischief in town and taking care of their respective families.  So much had happened to Merlin over these past couple of years that it felt almost as if he’d lived another life or two in that time.

 

Stopping at the outskirts of town, Merlin paused to breathe in the fresh air around him.  He found his mind drifting back to his Father, and couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever stood on this very spot, so many years ago.  Years he’d spent hiding from Uther’s tyranny and war against invisible enemies.  It was enough of a thought to send his mind spiralling into the throes of righteous fury once again at the injustice of his Father’s fate.  His Father who had only loved and cared for the dragons, hunted like an animal by Uther Pendragon for being born with magical abilities.  It was no more a crime than punishing someone for being born with brown hair or green eyes.  Uther had been the one to blame for his Father’s exile, as well as his eventual death, and this knowledge hurt no less now than it had upon the first discovery of such facts.

 

“Merlin?”

 

His head snapped up in surprise, shattering his dreary thought process, to meet the smiling eyes of his Mother.  He’d sent word of his impending visit, but there was really no way to know if the message had reached her prior to his actual arrival.

 

“Mum,” he whispered as she enveloped him in a warm embrace, wrapping her arms firmly around his neck.  There was nothing more than the slightest lilt to his voice, but it seemed to be enough to pique her curiosity.

 

“Are you okay Merlin?” she asked, pulling back to stare at him intently, in the way that only Mothers could.

 

Merlin had planned on getting into the house and at least settling in before allowing himself to unload onto his Mother, but standing here with her loving, concerned and accepting (always accepting) face trained on him, he found he was barely able to maintain composure long enough to choke out, “No, I’m not.  Everything is a complete mess, Mum, and I don’t know what to do.”

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Hunith ushered Merlin into the house and began to make tea, but eventually abandoned the action when she realized her son needed her attention more.  With a saddened sigh, she sat down on a stool across from Merlin and simply listened to his story, every once in a while patting his arm or placing a steadying hand on his shaking knee.  She had never seen her boy so distraught in all her life, and it was really quite alarming in its intensity.

 

Merlin told her about how things had been quite tense between himself and Arthur after the questing beast, especially after Arthur sacked him in favour of a common thief.  He continued to speak of how Arthur had somehow managed to fall in love with Gwen, practically overnight, and how in spite of his claims to the contrary, Merlin had been quite concerned about this radical and unexplained shift.  Hunith suspected there was more there than he was willing to admit at the moment, but she knew that now was not an appropriate time for that discussion.

 

The story of how Gaius had nearly been executed for sorcery sent a wave of genuine fear through Hunith for the first time since sending Merlin away.  If Uther was so willing to sentence Gaius, a close friend, to death then he would not even blink an eye at killing her son.  The thought flooded her veins with near paralysing fear, and she wondered if perhaps she’d made the wrong decision after all.  The only thing holding her back from voicing this concern was, again, the fragility of her son at the moment.

 

“Merlin, maybe you should take a break?” Hunith suggested softy at this point, reaching out and rubbing the back of his arm soothingly.

 

But Merlin shook his head, a determined look on his face.  He reached up with his other hand to wipe away a few tears that had managed to slip past his cheeks and let out a shaky, mirthless laugh.  “I can’t, Mum.  We’re just getting to the good part.”  The sorrow in his voice was not surprising, but the anger was, and Hunith wished more than anything in the world that she could just erase all of these terrible experiences from her son’s mind.

 

“All right then, if you’re sure,” she said at long last, giving him an encouraging smile.

 

He did not return the gesture.  Merlin continued with his story, telling Hunith about the journey Morgeause had sent Arthur and himself on and the new details that had been revealed about Arthur’s Mother in the process.  His voice broke when he spoke of having to convince Arthur that the sorcerer had been lying about the circumstances surrounding Ygraine’s death, and how Arthur had renewed his position against magic at that point.  The tears started to flow when he told her about Freya, and by the time he recounted what had happened with Morgana, he sounded so exhausted that he was barely able to speak.

 

It was then that Hunith decided he’d had enough for now, and that he needed to take a break and eat something before he passed out.  “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through,” she told him, wrapping him in a warm embrace,which he easily accepted.  In spite of Merlin’s size, he felt like her little boy again, and she fought down her own wave of tears as she held him.  “But I think we should stop, my boy.  You can tell me the rest later.”

 

Merlin pulled away from her swiftly then, staring at her across the gap between them through tear-stained eyes and shook his head.  “No, we can’t stop yet.  The last part of the story has to do with my Father...  Balinor, the last dragon lord.”

 

This time Merlin was the one who reached out to steady Hunith.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up here, in all honesty.  He’d spent most of the morning working his knights to death.  Or at least as close to death as he was willing to allow them to get at the moment.  After losing so many of his seasoned knights battling the dragon, Arthur had been putting the newer recruits through the wringer.  Once practice had wrapped up, Arthur found himself up in his chambers, armour being removed by some new and overly enthusiastic servant who was all _yes, Sire_ and _right away, Sire_.  Not so long ago he would have revelled in such obedience and reverence – seeing as how he was a Prince and deserved such respect – but now he just found it bloody irritating.  Said servant then proceeded to prepare his bath, serve him lunch, and tidy up his rooms until they were practically spotless.  He did everything to near perfection, behaving in a polite and respectful manner, only speaking when spoken to and addressing Arthur as “Sire” or “my Lord.”  Which of course only reminded him of his former useless manservant, whom he absolutely did not miss even a tiny bit.  Except that he perhaps did, and more often than not over the past week, he found his thoughts drifting between Merlin and Morgana, although, embarrassingly enough, the scale was tipped in Merlin’s favour.

 

Somewhere along the line, Arthur determined that he needed to clear his head and decided to go for a walk.  How he found himself currently in Gaius’ workshop, staring determinedly at Merlin’s bedroom door (as if he would magically appear if Arthur just glared long enough), was truly and sincerely beyond his comprehension.  But here he was, all the same.  The physician was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best anyway.  Arthur had absolutely no reason to be here and no justifiable explanation to provide to Gaius should he show up at any moment, which was quite possible now that he thought about it.

 

Logically Arthur knew that he should just leave and take a stroll through Camelot, or go for a ride outside of the city, or do _anything_ else as long as he didn’t remain _here_.

 

The sound of the door swinging open abruptly halted Arthur’s internal debate and he had to muster every ounce of willpower he was able to draw on in order to prevent himself from letting out an unmanly and un-Princely squawk.

 

“Sire?” he heard Gaius ask, a tone of worry in his voice, as he stepped into the workshop and shut the door behind him.  “Are you all right?”

 

Arthur plastered on his best smile and nodded.  “Yes, Gaius, I’m quite fine, thank you.”

 

Gaius shot him a vaguely curious look and raised a single eyebrow in question.  Which promptly reminded Arthur that he probably needed to come up with an explanation as to why he was in Gaius’ chambers if he was perfectly fine.

 

Before he really had time to think it through, the words came tumbling out of his mouth.  “I ran out of salve for my shoulder and wanted to see if you had any more.”

 

The expression that fell upon Gaius’ face was nothing short of utter confusion, and had Arthur not been in the middle of trying to bluff his way out of an embarrassing situation, he might have laughed.  “You mean the same salve that I gave you yesterday?”

 

Arthur bit back a cough.  He’d kind of, sort of, completely forgotten about that in his moment of panic.  “Oh yes.  Right.  Must have slipped my mind.  Pardon the intrusion, Gaius,” Arthur offered lamely, strolling towards the door in an attempt to make a hasty retreat.

 

But he was stopped by Gaius calling out his name.  Huffing out a nervous breath, Arthur turned to face Gaius with all the poise and charm he could muster.  “Yes?”

 

“There was…nothing else you wished to speak with me about?” came the gentle inquiry after a couple of silent moments.  Gaius had to know that Arthur was bluffing – it was the most ridiculous excuse Arthur had possibly ever employed in his life – but for his part, he sounded nothing short of genuinely concerned.

 

Still, in spite of the sheer stupidity of his bluff, Arthur was not willing to lose face over this any more than he already had by admitting to anything.  “No, that was all,” he told Gaius, trying to sound confident.

 

And then he did the second most idiotic thing he’d done in quite a while.  Arthur’s eyes flickered, almost unconsciously, over to Merlin’s bedroom door for the briefest of moments, but as soon as Gaius’ gaze roamed towards that direction as well, Arthur knew that he’d been found out.

 

When their eyes met again, Gaius smiled warmly at him, almost knowingly.  But there was no judgement or condescension there, only compassion.  “I thought that perhaps his Highness had been having difficulty sleeping and wanted something to help?  You’ve seemed very tired as of late, Sire, especially with all the troubles that have befallen Camelot in recent months and I thought that perhaps you wanted a tonic.”

 

Arthur just stared dumbly at Gaius for a few moments, attempting to process the rather simple words that had just come out of his mouth and then figure out how to properly respond to them.  “Um, yes, actually,” Arthur managed to spit out as soon as he was able to form words again.  “I haven’t been sleeping as well as I would like,” he admitted.

 

Gaius nodded once in satisfaction and began rummaging around the room, seemingly to prepare the tonic for him.  “I’ll make one up for you right away, Sire.  I will bring it by later on this evening, but feel free to come back at any point if you’d like more.”  Gaius tossed him one last knowing smile as Arthur headed out of the room, before setting about his work.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

In the first two weeks he was home, Merlin spent a great deal of time talking to his Mother about Balinor.  He found that he craved any piece of information about his Father that she could offer.  Where he came from, what he was like, the things he was interested in, and anything else she knew about him.  He knew it was hard for his Mother at times to speak about her former love, but in spite of this, she readily shared any knowledge she had of the man who would have been her husband.  As a young child, Merlin never understood why his Mother avoided all questions he’d asked about his Father, until finally one day he simply stopped asking.  Merlin always assumed that there was some particular reason why his Mum never mentioned his Dad or spoke about him, though Merlin had always assumed it was likely because he’d died long ago.  Or because she didn’t think he deserved to know the truth about him.  It was only now that Merlin was able to develop a true appreciation for the choices his Mum had made back then, and how she’d really been protecting him instead of trying to hurt him by keeping his Father’s identity a secret.

 

A few days after Merlin’s arrival, his Mother had brought him out to a particular patch of forest just behind his home.

 

“This was a place that your Father liked to sit while he carved,” she’d told him, pointing to an old log that lay on the ground amidst the brush.  “He said that it was a good place to think.”

 

Merlin started going out to the log every single day.  Sometimes he simply sat and thought, other times he practiced his magic, and sometimes Merlin talked to his Father about anything and everything.  There was something oddly comforting about being in the same place that had once been important to Balinor, as if Merlin was able to connect with his Father, in spite of the fact that he was no longer alive.

 

“Hi Father,” Merlin stated shyly, kicking softly at the ground with his boot and staring at nothing in particular.  “I hope you’re okay, wherever you are.”

 

At first it felt sort of awkward to be talking out loud to nothing but the air, rocks, trees, and bushes in his direct line of sight.  However, the more he did it, the easier it became, and there were times when he almost felt like his Father was there, listening and comforting and supporting him.  Merlin spoke of Camelot, Gaius and Gwen.  He talked about Morgana and Freya, tearfully expositing their stories in a painfully honest manner, as he’d never been able to do before.  Merlin shared his misgivings about the Great Dragon, Uther, and various enemies he’d had to deal with over the past couple of years.  But mostly he spoke about Arthur, and about his magic.

 

“I wish you were here right now, actually,” he admitted softly.  “It would make things so much easier.  I need to go back to Camelot now.  Arthur’s expecting me.  But I don’t know how I can ever face him again without breaking down and telling him everything.  Telling him could get me killed, but not telling him is slowly killing me too.  I don’t know what to do.”

 

There were times when Merlin thought that maybe his Father actually was still there with him somehow, watching and listening.  It wasn’t something he could quite explain, nor was there any actual physical evidence to prove his point.  It was simply a feeling that Merlin had, almost as if he could sense his Father’s presence.  Sometimes when he spoke, he felt a sense of warmth wash over him, and it was comforting to think that perhaps it wasn’t just the sun, even if he may have been deluding himself. ** __**

“It’s just that Arthur’s...well, he’s really damn important to me and despite all I’ve lost, I don’t think I can imagine living a life without him in it.  The prat is a complete arse most of the time, but he’s a good man, and a good friend.  There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for him.  The problem is that he trusts me completely now, and I don’t know how to tell him without betraying that trust forever.  It’s all just a mess.”

 

Merlin fingered a stone on the ground, turning it around in his hand and watching the way it shone in the light.  “I guess I just want to know that this whole thing won’t end in disaster.”

 

The forest remained uncharacteristically silent, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was a hopeful or ominous sign.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Three weeks after he’d first arrived in Ealdor, Merlin found himself kneading dough for bread he was learning to make and thinking about Arthur, not for the first time.  He wondered what Arthur was doing at that very moment in time in Camelot.  It was mid afternoon, so he’d probably just finished eating lunch and was likely going to train his knights.  He’d been pushing them quite hard as of late, to compensate for the deaths of those involved in the fight with the Great Dragon.  Of course, it was also possible that Arthur was on patrol, or stuck in a particularly boring meeting.  Merlin just hoped that no tragedy had befallen Camelot since he’d left, and felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that he wasn’t there now, as had originally been expected.  He sent a letter to Gaius a few days ago to inform his mentor that he was all right, but wouldn’t be coming home just yet.  A similar letter had consequently not been sent to Arthur, even though a part of him had wanted to.  Merlin also wondered if Arthur thought about him at all, if he missed his presence.  Was the Prince going about his daily routine happily, with a new servant actually providing competent service?  Or was he worried about him, wondering where the hell Merlin was and what he was doing?  Lastly, he wondered what would happen when his magical secret was finally revealed.  A thousand different scenarios played through his mind on an endless loop, but none of them ended with things going well.  It was truly a terrifying thought.

 

Merlin was only vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening, but after a few minutes of silence he thought he might have just imagined the whole thing.

 

“You seem troubled,” Hunith remarked quietly after a moment’s pause.

 

Merlin glanced up distractedly, noticing for the first time that he’d stopped kneading the dough beneath his hands several minutes ago, if not longer.  “I’m fine,” he lied, knowing full well that his Mother would see right through him in a heartbeat, but pushing down his feelings had almost become a natural instinct, he’d become so accustomed to doing it.

 

She walked over to him and placed a soothing hand on his back.  “What’s bothering you, my boy?”

 

“It’s nothing,” he breathed out slowly, averting his gaze carefully.  It was a losing battle, he knew, but he didn’t really feel like talking right now.  He was tired of going around in circles when there was no resolution on the horizon; when every solution seemed to create more problems.

 

“You wouldn’t look so forlorn if it were nothing, Merlin.  Perhaps talking about it will help.”

 

“No, it won’t help.  I’ve talked this over enough as it is.  There’s nothing left to say.”  He resumed kneading the bread beneath his fingers, already fighting back the tears that threatened to spill forth.  Perhaps Arthur really was right when he called Merlin a girl.  He’d spent far too much time crying in the last several months.

 

Hunith remained silent, rubbing his back gently as only a Mother could do, before turning away from him and moving across the room.  Merlin swallowed a sigh of relief and returned his attention to the bread he was poorly attempting to make.  Five minutes passed, and then another five, as he finished with the dough.  Merlin was beginning to think that he was getting out of this conversation after all, when his Mother finally spoke up.

 

“This is about Arthur, isn’t it?” she finally asked, and Merlin had to admit that he was impressed that she’d been able to hold out that long.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he tried, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Did something happen between you that you didn’t tell me about?”

 

Merlin let out a huff of frustration, sitting down on the stool across from his Mother.  “No, Mum.  Things are fine.  Better than ever, really.  Except that it’s all a horrible lie...”

 

“Don’t say that, Merlin.”

 

“But it’s true.”

 

“ _Merlin_ ,” Hunith stated firmly, staring at him until he finally met her gaze.  “Tell me, do you care about Arthur?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“Would you willingly serve him, regardless of your magic?”

 

Merlin paused briefly before admitting, “I’d do anything for Arthur.”

 

“And does Arthur care for you?”

 

Merlin really had to think about that one.  Sure, Arthur seemed to like him well enough, but that was Merlin as his incompetent manservant, not Merlin the incredibly powerful warlock.  Who knew what his perspective would be if he knew the real Merlin.  Eventually he decided to go with, “He’s said as much, so I suppose he must.”

 

“Then why, my boy, would you ever think that it’s all a lie?  Would your affection or dedication or loyalty to Arthur change if he knew about your magic, or if you had no magic at all?”

 

“No.”  There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice this time when he answered.

 

Hunith smiled knowingly, and reached over to take his hand in both of hers.  “So, then, why would you assume the opposite to be true of Arthur?”  And Merlin had to admit that the argument was logical enough, except that Arthur and logic didn’t exactly go together in the best of times, never mind when it came to magic.

 

“You don’t understand,” Merlin told her with a heavy sigh.  He appreciated what his Mum was trying to do, but she didn’t realize that it was far more complicated than how she was presenting the situation.

 

“Then explain it to me.”

 

“He _hugged_ me before I left to come and see you.”  Merlin sounded distraught over this piece of information, though it was clear that his Mother did not understand why.

 

“That means that he cares for you, my boy.  It’s not a bad thing,” she murmured soothingly, reaching out to pat his arm.

 

Merlin just shook his head.  “Yes it is.  Arthur likes me.  He gets concerned about me when I act strangely.  He _trusts_ me, Mum.  I could be running around lying and stealing from him and he’d still stand up for me in court and defend me against his Father.  His _Father_.  Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

 

Hunith’s face twisted into a semi-frown as she watched her son.  “I still don’t understand why this is bad though, Merlin.  You’re fortunate to have Arthur’s loyalty and trust.”

 

“Because,” he cried out, throwing his hands up in demonstration.  “When he finds out how I’ve lied to him all this time… and the things I’ve done over the past several months…  He’ll hate me for sure.  It’s so much worse now that I have his complete trust, because it will just be that much harder to earn it back.”  Merlin sighed heavily, running a hand over his face and bit his lip.  “I don’t know what I’d do without Arthur, Mum.  He’s an arrogant prat and yet my best friend in spite of it all, but he’s so much more than just that…”  _He’s my whole world and I can’t bear the thought of being without him_ , Merlin mentally finished, but he didn’t have the heart to put the sentiment into words.  Never mind the fact that it was terribly embarrassing.

 

“I just...can’t keep my magic from him any longer,” he finally finished resignedly, mentally and physically deflating.  “Do you have any idea what Arthur has done for me this year, Mum?  It goes above and beyond what any normal person would do for a friend, never mind what a Prince would do for a servant.  He’s going to feel so betrayed and I don’t know what to do.”

 

Merlin buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes as the weight of the implication hung heavily over his head.  There was no way out of this mess that didn’t end in disaster, and Merlin was not looking forward to facing that reality.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

If Arthur had to sit through one more land dispute, or listen to one more person argue about how so-and-so had stolen their most valued cow, he thought he might explode from bottled up frustration.  There was truly only so much one person could handle, and Arthur had reached his breaking point.  Of course, as the future King of Camelot, it was important that Arthur be in attendance to help settle these arguments as a sign of good faith to the people, so they knew that their future King cared for their well-being.  Which he did.  Except that Arthur had other thoughts weighing on his mind that made concentration on the peasants’ arguments next to impossible.

 

In the past there were times when Morgana had joined the council at Uther’s request, in spite of her many protestations against being forced to sit through “all those petty squabbles,” which many of them happened to be.  Arthur had enjoyed those meetings more than the others, if for no other reason than the fact that he liked to see Morgana’s thinly veiled irritation at being stuck in that room with no real authority to provide thoughts or an opinion on the cases presented. There were also times when he would catch her eye across the table and they’d share a _look_ , which would often spawn silent conversations (or sometimes wars) between the two of them until one relented and broke eye contact.  The thought of Morgana sent another spike of worry through him, and he wondered - not for the first time - if she was okay out there, wherever she currently was.

 

Arthur sighed heavily, but tried to look attentive all the same.  The last thing he needed was the King on his case.

 

 

“Arthur, what do you think?”

 

Uther’s booming voice interrupted his reverie quite effectively and Arthur glanced across the table at his Father, wondering what the hell they were discussing at the moment.  “Excuse me?”

 

“I asked what your thoughts were on the land dispute.  What do you think is the best solution to this problem?”  Uther shot him an expectant look, as if he were waiting for some great pearls of wisdom from his son.  The son who hadn’t paid any attention at all to the current claim and had instead been lost in thought over his missing step-sister and absent manservant.  Not that Uther was aware of this, of course.

 

Arthur swallowed tightly and decided that the most graceful solution to this situation was to bluff his way out of it and pretend as though he’d been listening the whole time.  There weren’t exactly any other feasible options that Arthur could employ at the moment, and it would look terribly uncouth for him to admit that he’d spent the last twenty minutes daydreaming instead of listening to both parties put forth their complaint.

 

He glanced between both men, brain working overtime to try and pull any relevant information – anything he may have accidentally absorbed simply by being in the same room as them – that could be even remotely helpful in coming up with a solution.  Unfortunately, Arthur could not recall a single detail about either, save for their names and their general area of origin.

 

“Well,” he started, hoping he sounded far more confident than he felt,  “It seems to me that either you split the land in half, or you both will have to share what’s there between you.”

 

Uther stared at Arthur for several long moments, eyes boring deeply into his with a frown plastered to his face, and Arthur was almost positive that he’d said the entirely wrong thing.  He hadn’t dared even chancing a glance at the two men, for fear of what their expressions would hold.

 

Arthur was about to recant his statement when Uther nodded at him, his frown dissolving into a semi-smile.  “I think that is a reasonable and fair solution to the problem.  You’ve actually made the whole issue quite simple.  Fine work, son,” he told him.

 

Arthur blinked and simply allowed himself to smile in spite of his obvious confusion.  That had been close.  Too bloody close for Arthur’s liking.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

That evening, Arthur went to see Gaius.  This time, however, he cut straight to the point.

 

“Is he coming back?”

 

Gaius, for his part, decided to forgo his typical clueless act this time around, and for that Arthur was grateful.  “He made no indication that he _wasn’t_ returning, Sire.  But I can’t say for certain, of course.”

 

Arthur huffed out a breath and ran a hand loosely through his hair.  “What’s going on with Merlin, Gaius?  There’s been something...  For months now, there’s been something eating away at him.  I’ve tried asking him to tell me, I’ve tried forcing him to tell me, hell I’ve even tried bribing him.  Nothing’s worked.”

 

Gaius nodded thoughtfully.  “And why do you think that something’s wrong in the first place?”

 

Arthur stared at the older man for several moments, blinking in surprise at the absurdity of the question.  “I may not be the most thoughtful or observant person who ever walked the earth, Gaius, but I know Merlin, and I know when something is different.  He seems almost....miserable these days and I don’t have a clue as to the explanation for his change in behaviour.”

 

“Merlin’s a complex individual,” Gaius started, and Arthur snorted in spite of himself.  It wasn’t that he thought Merlin was a simple peasant, because goodness knows he’d already proven that to be false time and time again.  However, ‘ _complex_ ’ was most definitely not a word Arthur would typically associate with Merlin, though he supposed in some ways it was an apt description.

 

The physician shot him a warning look, but carried on.  “I cannot claim to know what it is that you think is troubling Merlin, but even if I did Sire, you understand that I wouldn’t be able to break that confidence.”

 

Arthur nodded.  “Nor would I expect you to,” he agreed. 

 

“You can’t just let him deal with his misery, if that’s even what it is?”

 

“No!  Because when Merlin’s miserable, I’m miserable.”

 

Gaius froze, staring at Arthur with a mixture of genuine surprise and something like amused affection.  Arthur’s eyes widened immediately when the implication of what he’d just said sunk in, and fumbled to clarify the statement.  “I mean, when he’s miserable, then his work gets even shoddier, which naturally impacts me, and therefore tends to make my life miserable as well,” Arthur offered lamely, hoping that he’d clarified the egregious error of his previous words but knowing, deep down, that neither one of them believed the false explanation.

 

Still, Arthur’s slip of the tongue was neither here nor there at the moment.  They had more important matters to attend to, such as whether or not Merlin actually intended to return to Camelot.

 

“Look, Gaius, I just need to know if he’s coming back.”

 

“I wish I could tell you the answer to that question, Sire, but I cannot.”

 

“Then what would be your best guess?” Arthur pressed further, folding his arms across his chest and waiting patiently for the older man’s response.

 

Gaius seemed to thoughtfully consider the question before finally answering, “Merlin considers Camelot his home now, and he has many people here whom he cares deeply for.  But while it seems unlikely that he wouldn’t return, I can’t say for sure that I believe he will come back.  Sire.”

 

And in that moment, Arthur made a snap decision.  If Merlin was hiding from Arthur for some reason, if he was planning to remain in Ealdor instead of returning to Camelot, then Arthur wasn’t just going to sit back and take it.  He’d invested too much of his time...his energy...his loyalty...his _heart_...in Merlin to simply allow him to walk away.  Not now; not ever.

 

“Can you do me a favour, Gaius?” Arthur started, and a plan mentally formed in his head as he spoke.  “Tomorrow morning can you go to my Father and tell him that I went on a hunting trip for a few days?”

 

Gaius quirked a single eyebrow, his forehead wrinkling thoughtfully. “What are you planning, Sire?”

 

Arthur smiled.  “If Merlin won’t come back here, then I guess I need to go and get him myself.”  And with that, he headed back to his chamber to begin the preparations for his journey.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Hunith was out gathering another pail of water to use for washing when she heard the sound of hooves trotting up to the village entrance.  She glanced up at the rider who had just entered, but didn’t note anything particularly significant about him.  He wore black trousers, black boots and had a hooded cape that mostly covered his face.  It was not so common to have visitors to Ealdor, but Hunith also knew that the village was often a good place to stop for weary travellers.  She hauled the bucket of water over to where the mysterious stranger was just stepping off his horse.

 

“Welcome to Ealdor,” she told him warmly.  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

 

“I’m looking for a wiry, clumsy, brown-haired kid about this high,” he raised his hand to hover approximately at the top of his head.  Hunith knitted her brows together, as she instantly recognized something familiar about the voice, but couldn’t quite place it.

 

“His name’s Merlin.  You might know him?”  And then the man slid the hood from his head to reveal his identity.

 

“Arthur!” she cried out in delighted surprise, and her face immediately broke into a grin.  Before the man even had time to react, she was pulling him into a tight hug, overjoyed that he was here in Ealdor and already wondering why that was.  She felt him stiffen involuntarily in her arms before he allowed himself to relax and return the gesture in kind.

 

Hunith had always liked Arthur, from the very first moment she’d met him.  He was polite and respectful, dignified and caring.  The whole village was still grateful for his assistance the previous year, when he’d stepped in to help them in a time of dire need.  There were not many Princes out there who would risk so much for their servant’s village, and the man had won her respect from that moment on.  She also knew that he was good for Merlin, and that he’d been good _to_ her son.  Hunith was uncertain as to why he was here now, but a part of her heart leapt at the idea that he’d simply come for Merlin.  Their bond was incredibly strong, she knew.  Possibly even stronger than either had really fully come to grasp just yet, and his presence here was significant somehow.

 

“It’s good to see you Hunith,” Arthur told her warmly when she released him from her grip.

 

“As it is to see you,” she returned, and absently reached down to grab hold of the bucket once again.

 

Being the gentlemen he was, though, Arthur placed a gentle hand on her arm.  “Let me?” he asked, and she was happy to oblige.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

When the door opened, Merlin glanced up, poised to ask his Mum where she’d put his trousers the other day. However, the words abruptly died in his throat upon beholding the person who had entered the house instead.

 

“Arthur?”  Merlin froze in place, his eyes widening and giving off the appearance of a hunted deer.  His gaze shifted in the direction of Hunith, and the look of near panic seemed to only intensify briefly before it became a mask once again.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur responded slowly.  This wasn’t quite the reaction he was expecting upon his arrival.  Though, when he really thought about it, it wasn’t as if he had something specific in mind.  The look of mild terror on his manservant’s face wasn’t exactly reassuring, however.

 

When it seemed as if Merlin still wasn’t planning on saying anything intelligent, he carried on.  “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve seen me, but surely even you can’t be that daft.”  It was meant as a joke; Arthur even smiled when he said it.  Merlin didn’t seem to find it quite as humorous.

 

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” he asked, stepping back from the table and wiping his hands on the rag hanging on the back of a chair.  He sounded tired and weary.

 

Arthur raised a single brow in mild amusement.  “Well, see, that’s an interesting question.  I used to have this servant – completely incompetent; worst one I’ve ever known, by the way – and one day he asked to go on a trip home.  So naturally I, being the gracious and caring Prince that I am, allowed him the time off he needed to go on this trip.  Except said manservant never actually returned from his trip, nor did he inform the Prince of his intentions to stay longer.” 

 

There was slightly more to the story, including the fact that the Prince had lied to his Father about where he was going, and that he had come here with the express purpose of finding and bringing Merlin back to Camelot, but Arthur figured that those were just side details that didn’t need to be shared at the moment.

 

Merlin at least had the good grace to look sufficiently sheepish.  “I’m sorry,” he responded after a moment, eyes cast downward in an oddly submissive gesture.  “I meant to head back, and I meant to send word to you that I wanted to stay, but I couldn’t ever make up my mind.”

 

“Well you could have done _something_ ,” Arthur chided, though it was lacking his usual fervour.  “I need a servant I can rely on, you know.  Someone who does what he says and doesn’t disappear for extended periods of time without telling me.  I’ve been-“  He stopped himself then.  _Worried.  I’ve been worried about you_ was what he was going to say, but for some reason he didn’t think it would be a good idea to finish the thought.  It revealed a lot about his relationship with Merlin to admit that he’d been concerned about him.  Princes were not supposed to care so deeply about their servants that they worried about their mental health.  Nor were they supposed to follow their servants back to their hometowns in order to bring them back home.  Then again, it was probably the least of everything he’d done for or because of Merlin in the last several months, breaking the law and becoming a seasoned liar not withstanding.

 

Merlin, however, was not known for subtlety, nor for recognizing it.  “You’ve been what?”

 

“Never mind,” Arthur told him hurriedly, casting a sidelong glance in Hunith’s direction.  “Maybe we should go outside?” he suggested after a moment, thinking that it would probably be best if Hunith wasn’t subjected to this conversation, as it was likely to get heated, if their past history was any indication.

 

Merlin’s mouth opened, probably to protest, but before he had even begun forming the words, Hunith chimed in.  “I actually promised Mrs Weedley I’d stop by and visit her this afternoon, so I’ll leave you boys to talk.”  And without another word, she quietly excused herself from the house.

 

Merlin and Arthur simply stared at one another for several moments following her departure, engaging in a silent battle of wills.  The impending conversation would be nothing short of onerous, Arthur knew, but he didn’t want to avoid it forever.  Whatever it was that Merlin was dealing with, Arthur was determined to get some answers and then do whatever he could to help make things better somehow.

 

“So, what’s really going on?” Arthur ventured eventually.

 

“What do you mean?”  The genuine innocence in his blue eyes was almost startling, though Arthur was quite convinced that Merlin knew damn well what he was talking about.

 

“Come on Merlin, you can’t honestly take me for that much of a fool,” he began, but when he noticed the slight twitch of Merlin’s mouth, he quickly added, “That was rhetorical.  Anyway, I know something has been bothering you for quite a while now, in spite of your numerous protestations to the contrary.  You’re even more distracted than usual, you’ve been more emotional than ever before, and you’ve barely even insulted me in the past month.”  The tiny smirk that formed on Merlin’s face felt like a small victory somehow.  “And may the gods help me, but I’ve even started _missing_ listening to your inane drivel.  There’s something oddly comforting about it…”

 

“Why thank you, _Sire_ ,” Merlin droned dryly, but there was a touch of humour and sarcasm rolled into the comment.

 

“Plus, you asked for two weeks to come and visit your Mum, and now it’s been close to a month.  With no word from you whatsoever, I might add.  Were you even planning on coming back to Camelot?”

 

“Of course I was!” Merlin insisted confidently.  “I’m sorry I never contacted you.  That wasn’t right.  But you should know that I’d never just leave without telling you.”

 

Arthur blinked, raising both eyebrows questioningly.  “Really?  Because I’m not sure how I would know that unless I had the skill of clairvoyance.  You never talk to me any more.”

 

“I talk to you all the time,” he protested adamantly, scrunching up his face in a way that should have looked ridiculous, but Arthur mostly just found it adorable.  He shook his head to clear the thought away as Merlin continued to ramble.  “Just because I’ve been quiet lately doesn’t mean I don’t talk.”

 

“But it’s not about anything _important_.  Every time I ask you what’s wrong, you ignore me or change the subject.”

 

“Have you ever considered that maybe it’s just none of your damn business?” Merlin shot back, eyes alighting with fiery indignation.  But it was the most animated he’d seen his servant in quite some time, so Arthur was glad to continue to fuel the fire.

 

“And have _you_ ever considered that maybe I’m asking because I _care_?  Because I’m your friend?”

 

“I thought you were the one who said we couldn’t ever be friends, since you’re a Prince and all?  _Sire_.”

 

Arthur tried not to roll his eyes.  Sometimes Merlin really could be unbelievably dense.  He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.  “Look, officially I can’t actually call you my friend.  Traditionally Princes are not allowed to be friends with their servants.  And it could put you at risk, never mind me, if word were to get out.  But I kind of hoped…  I assumed you would get it…  Well, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that you would understand what it was I was saying that day…”

 

“I’d settle for understanding what you’re trying to say right now,” Merlin cut in cheekily, and Arthur shot him a warning glare.

 

“What I’m saying, _Merlin_ ,” he drawled, throwing extra emphasis on his name, “is that you _are_ my friend.  And much as it pains me to admit it, you’re probably the closest friend I’ve ever had.  I just can’t acknowledge that in public.  I assumed...well, I assumed that you would get the meaning behind my words.  I thought I was being quite clear on the matter.  Apparently my expectations exceeded logistics though.”

 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed slightly, arms folded loosely across his chest, as he seemed to study Arthur thoughtfully. 

 

“Thank you,” he said finally, though he didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as Arthur would have expected.  Then again, nothing had really gone as expected on this whole trip thus far, so he figured he should be used to this by now.

 

“You don’t sound overly thrilled by this information,” Arthur remarked casually.

 

“What, did you want me to throw a feast in your honour?”

 

A burst of disbelieving laughter erupted from Arthur’s mouth.  “No, of course not, you idiot.  I’m just saying...”

 

Merlin did an uncannily accurate imitation of Gaius, his eyebrows quirking pointedly.  “You’re just saying _what_?”

 

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but then decided against it, promptly shutting it once more.  There were several ways to proceed at this point, but he couldn’t quite figure out which one would lead to the most satisfactory result.  Eventually he went with, “It doesn’t matter.  That’s beside the point.”

 

“Then what _is_ the point?” Merlin challenged.  Arthur was getting a little sick and tired of hearing the same type of comment getting thrown back in his face over and over again.

 

“The point is that there’s something wrong with you, and I want to know what it is.”

 

“Why are you so convinced that there’s something wrong with me?”

 

“Because I know you, Merlin.  We already went through this.  Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“Because there _isn’t_ anything wrong, Arthur.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Merlin frowned heavily, face twisted into a full scowl now as he took a step towards Arthur.  “Well that’s just too damn bad for you, isn’t it?”

 

“Why are you making such a big deal about this?”

 

“I think you’re the one who’s making this out to be more than it is.  I’ve told you there’s nothing wrong, so leave me alone.”  Merlin turned away from Arthur then, standing with his back towards the Prince. 

 

“Why are you so resistant to telling me?  Maybe I can help.”  Arthur reached out and placed a tentative hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but he jerked away roughly, turning to face Arthur once again.

 

“There’s nothing you can do to help because there’s nothing wrong.  I’m fine,” he tried to explain, but Arthur heard reluctance in his voice, and wondered if he was finally breaking through the barrier Merlin had placed between them.

 

Of course Arthur, being Arthur, had a tendency to say and do stupid things at inopportune times, and this was no exception.  “You haven’t been fine in a long time.  But especially since the whole incident with the dragon lord fellow, whatever his name was.  You can’t tell me you’re still upset over that.”  He regretted the words instantly, knowing they conveyed accusation instead of understanding and compassion, like he’d intended.

 

Suddenly Merlin’s eyes were filled with rage as he advanced angrily on Arthur, shoving him back.  “His name was Balinor,” he practically growled.

 

“Excuse me.  But I don’t see why it matters,” Arthur shot back, having no idea why Merlin was so furious but starting to feel thoroughly ticked off himself, in spite of knowing that this line of conversation would likely lead nowhere good.  “It’s not like he was anyone important.”

 

“Maybe not to you...”  There was a strong ‘ _but_ ’ in there somewhere, yet Arthur hadn’t a clue as to why.

 

There was something dangerous about Merlin’s voice and his eyes, but Arthur was too annoyed to really care at this point.  “But he was to you?  You only knew him for a couple of days, Merlin.  He was just some bitter old man who could speak to dragons.”

 

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

 

“Why do you care?  You know as well as I do that it’s the truth.”

 

“Why do I care?!” Merlin screeched, almost hysterically, and something in his entire demeanour seemed to snap.  His eyes danced with burning fury, but also something else.  They were painted with the same deep sorrow and unshed tears that Arthur had borne witness to more times than he dared to count.  And in spite of his wiry frame, the man seemed to tower over Arthur as his whole body literally shook with rage and maybe even despair.

 

“I care because-“ his voice broke then, and Arthur felt his throat constrict tightly as he watched Merlin.  “Because Balinor – that bitter old man – was my _Father_ , Arthur.  He was my Father, and now he’s...”

 

Merlin trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as previously unshed tears started to fall down his cheeks.  He shook his head miserably, and pushed past Arthur, making his way outside.  Arthur stood in a dumbstruck haze for several moments, finding it incredibly challenging to move his limbs and go after Merlin.  By the time the shock had sufficiently worn off, Merlin was already long gone.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

The sun shone brightly in the late afternoon sky even through the expanse of forest that sat on the outskirts of Ealdor, wind blowing gently through the air and softly rustling the leaves.  It was surprisingly warm for this time of year, a beautiful day to be outside and enjoying the weather.  Except for Merlin, it felt like a figurative slap to the face as he rested wearily against the back of a tree, lost in his own miserable thoughts and wishing the world would just swallow him up instead.  It had been a good ten minutes since he’d run out on Arthur, and he was both anticipating and dreading the conversation that they would have when the Prince inevitably came to find him. .  Merlin hadn’t admitted anything about his magic, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before Arthur worked it out on his own.  Much as he teased Arthur about being thick, the reality was that he was quite the opposite.

 

Movement in the brush behind him alerted Merlin to the fact that someone was approaching.  For a moment he considered magic-ing himself somewhere else so he wouldn’t have to deal with this right now.  But he knew that wouldn’t help the situation any.  Taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin stood and made his presence known to the approaching figure, wiping the errant tears from his eyes, just in case.

 

“It took me a long time to find you,” Arthur said when he finally came to stand a few feet away from Merlin.  His expression was frustratingly unreadable and Merlin almost wished he saw anger there so he had some sense of what to expect from this whole conversation.

 

“I’m sorry.  I used to always come here when I was younger and needed to think.”

 

Arthur nodded but offered no explanation as to how he’d found him.  Instead, he wasted no time in getting down to business, something that Merlin was actually grateful for, in a way.  “So Balinor was your Father?”

 

Merlin indicated his assent, forcefully fighting back the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes once again.  “He was.”

 

“I thought you didn’t know your Father.”

 

“I didn’t.  I only found out Balinor was my Father shortly before we went off in search of him.  Gaius...  Gaius told me then.”

 

Arthur nodded, expression still indecipherable.  “And it never occurred to you to tell me about this?”

 

Merlin hung his head in shame.  He really had wanted to tell Arthur about it - even though Gaius told him not to, except...well, he honestly hadn’t even known how.  “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.  Also, I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

 

“Yes, well, clearly that plan failed,” Arthur snapped, face contorting when he seemed to realize what he’d just admitted.  He paused thoughtfully then, as though he was sorting through something in his head.  “Is that what you were upset about and refused to tell me that night in the inn?” he asked finally.

 

Well, there was no point in denying it now, Merlin figured.  “Yes,” he admitted quietly.

 

“Did you keep it a secret because he was a user of magic?” Arthur asked then, and Merlin was quite sure that he would figure things out sooner rather than later.

 

Gaius had told him not to let Arthur know under any circumstances, but that hadn’t been the motivating factor behind his decision. “No, that’s not the reason,” Merlin answered cautiously.

 

Arthur frowned, folding his arms across his chest.  “What else have you been hiding from me?” he asked after a moment.

 

Merlin should have insisted that there was nothing else – that he wasn’t keeping anything from the Prince – but something inside of him didn’t seem to want to follow through with that plan.  He tried opening his mouth to protest, but no words came out.  Instead, he averted his eyes to the ground and tried not to think of how bad this whole thing was going to be.  Merlin’s mind screamed at him to _say something, don’t let him find out or you’re going to end up on the executioner’s block_.  But the simple fact of the matter was that there was a part of Merlin that actually just _wanted_ Arthur to know, even if he ended up hating him.  At least there would be no more secrets...no more lies...no more sleepless nights.  Of course, there might not be many more nights in general, his mind cruelly reminded him.  Seconds seemed to blend into minutes, which made it feel like hours had passed when likely it was only a few moments.  But the moment that Merlin raised his head to finally meet Arthur’s gaze, he knew that it had finally clicked in Arthur’s head – that he knew.

 

“You have magical abilities, like your Father.  That’s what you’ve been hiding...why you didn’t want me to know about your Father,” Arthur said finally, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words he was saying.  “You’re a sorcerer.”

 

Merlin nodded slowly, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat.  “I’m so sorry Arthur.  I was born this way, it’s not something I ever asked for or wanted.  I’ve done magic since before I could even understand what it was.  I never meant to keep it from you, but I was in Camelot and I didn’t know how to tell you and then it was never the right time...”  He trailed off upon noticing Arthur’s expression.  It looked as if he had just seen his best friend die in front of his eyes.  That particular thought did little to quell the building fear.

 

“You lied to me.”  It was a statement, not a question, but the coldness in Arthur’s voice was unmistakable.

 

“I had no _choice_ , Arthur.  You have to believe me,” Merlin found himself practically begging.  “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I just couldn’t.”

 

“I’m supposed to believe that you wanted to tell me when you’ve been lying to my face for the past _two years_?” Arthur demanded loudly, brows raised in incredulous shock.  “Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

 

Merlin swiped at his face, trying unsuccessfully to put a stop to the tears that kept flowing from his eyes.  “I didn’t want to put you in the situation of having to decide between me and your Father.”

 

“Who’s to say there would even have been a decision to make?” Arthur asked cruelly, and Merlin felt like his world was finally crashing down at his feet.  He felt sick with agony, heart pounding so fervently in his chest that he was sure it might explode at any moment in time.  “Besides, why do you think that you get to decide what kinds of decisions I can and cannot handle?”

 

Merlin swallowed, but forced himself to make eye contact with Arthur, terrified of what he would see.  “I’m sorry.”  His voice came out barely more than a whisper.  “I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know.”

 

“And I’m sorry, too.  Sorry that I trusted you.  Sorry that you clearly think so little of me.”

 

“That’s not true,” Merlin protested weakly.  “It couldn’t be further from the truth.”

 

But Arthur rounded on him, stabbing a finger into his chest angrily.  “Have you ever used your magic against me?”

 

“No!  I would never do anything to hurt you,” Merlin insisted firmly, knowing that he had never uttered truer words.  Sure there was that one time that he’d almost dropped the boulder on Arthur while trying to protect Freya, but that had been an accident.  He hadn’t meant to put Arthur at risk; he’d simply miscalculated the boulder’s projected course.  He still felt sick about that every so often, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time and had acted on an emotion-induced whim.  “I’ve only used my magic to help you and to protect you.  Never anything else.  Well, except for some chores sometimes, but never anything malicious.”

 

“How do I know you haven’t manipulated me in some way?”  Arthur eyed him wearily, but his expression was unusually blank.

 

“What do you mean?” Merlin inquired, not understanding what he was trying to ask.

 

“I mean manipulated my mind, my behaviour, my thoughts.  To make me do, or think, strange things,” he answered, again in that detached, blank sort of way.

 

Merlin blanched, taken off guard by the question.  “No, of course not.”

 

“You could just be saying that.  For all I know you’re lying,” Arthur shot back.

 

“I’m not lying Arthur,” Merlin told him firmly, desperately fighting down the hysteria that he was struggling to keep at bay.  Every second that passed made it harder and harder to do, however.  “If you believe nothing else I say, believe this: I would never do anything to hurt or harm you, physically or psychologically.  I swear that on my life.”

 

“And did you ever stop to think that this betrayal might hurt me, Merlin?” the Prince demanded, sounding on the verge of hysterics himself.

 

“What choice did I have?” he roared, choking back a sob.  Merlin felt as if his heart were literally being ripped from his chest and set on fire.  “If I were found out, I would have been killed.  I couldn’t risk being separated from you, so I did what I had to do to keep us both safe.”

 

“Did it ever occur to you that _I_ could have kept you safe?  That maybe we could have been working together instead?”  Arthur was yelling now, screaming practically at the top of his lungs, and Merlin was thankful they were at least out in a forest away from Ealdor.  “I _trusted_ you Merlin.  With my life.”

 

Merlin swallowed hard.  “You still can trust me, Arthur.  The only thing that’s changed is that you now know I have magic.”

 

“How?  How can I do that now, knowing that you’re a sorcerer?  I thought I knew you, Merlin.”  There was an added element of sadness to his tone this time around, and that hurt even more than his anger had.

 

“You do!” Merlin cried, legs starting to wobble just slightly.

 

Arthur paused, staring intently at Merlin for several moments before finally speaking.  “I don’t know how I can ever trust you again.”  And with that, he turned and started walking away.  Away from Merlin, away from their destiny, and away from the last remnants of hope Merlin still had left.

 

“Arthur, wait,” Merlin begged hoarsely as a wave of fresh tears started to spill over onto his still–damp cheeks, but the Prince barely even flinched.

 

Watching him stalk away, Merlin sunk heavily to the ground in a listless heap and truly sobbed for the first time in his entire life.  He thought he’d experienced as much pain as was humanly possible for one person to experience, but Merlin knew now that it hadn’t been true until this very moment in time, and for the first time in his life, he wished he could just curl up into a ball and die.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

Arthur stalked away from Merlin without a second glance, but there was something that prevented him from leaving the forest entirely, so instead he paced back and forth on the outskirts, silently seething.  Even from this distance he could hear Merlin’s sobs, but he tried to push the sound from his consciousness.  Arthur wanted to break something, to reach out and punch a tree or do anything else in order to make his own pain feel less prominent.  However, the simple fact was that Merlin had lied to him, and that was not something he could so easily forget.  The part that hurt the most, though, was not that Merlin had lied.  A part of Arthur could understand his reasoning for that, considering they lived in a realm that despised and killed those who possessed magical abilities.  The part that hurt Arthur was that Merlin hadn’t trusted him enough to share this part of him; hadn’t trusted him enough to know that Arthur wouldn’t let anything happen to him.  Arthur had so many questions, many of which he suspected he likely would not want to know the actual answers to, but he first needed to figure out how to properly process all of this overwhelming information.

 

Uther had raised Arthur in a land and a time when sorcery of any sort was seen only as evil.  Arthur himself had never quite fully subscribed to the thought, because he believed that surely not every sorcerer could be bent on destruction and on causing harm to others.  It seemed too convenient.  He’d even met some that had not done anything to hurt others until they were threatened themselves.  Of course, his Father’s response to that line of thinking would be that they may not have done anything yet, but they would, if given enough time.  Arthur had fought against the stereotype all his life, but if even Merlin of all people could deceive him like that, it made Arthur question whether his Father may have been right after all.  Sorcerers couldn’t be trusted.  Even Merlin had proven that much to him, much as he may have been at least partially justified in doing so.

 

The thing that Arthur couldn’t quite seem to process was that he _knew_ Merlin.  Merlin was an idiot, generally incompetent, and as clumsy as could be.  But he had a good heart, and was fiercely loyal.  It didn’t make sense that Merlin could be both a sorcerer _and_ an evil person bent on destroying Camelot.  The two were mutually exclusive, or at least they had to be.  Otherwise Arthur’s world truly did not make any sense, and he didn’t know that he could ever trust another soul again, if he had truly been deceived by Merlin.

 

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, picking up a stick from the ground and tossing it errantly into the clearing in front of him.  It was at this point that he his mind seemed to re-tune itself to the sound of crying in the distance.  Arthur figured at least ten minutes had passed without any distinctive indication that Merlin’s sobs were going to subside in the immediate future, and as furious as he was, the sound was enough to shatter even the coldest of hearts.  It particularly hurt Arthur, knowing that he was the primary source of the sorrow currently wracking his friend’s body, even if Merlin had brought it on himself in the first place.

 

Clenching his fists briefly, Arthur made another snap decision, heading back in the direction of his manservant.  When he finally reached the man, he saw that Merlin was sitting on the ground with his legs pulled up to his chest and his face buried into his knees, body shaking with sobs.  Arthur had never seen Merlin look so small or pitiful in his life, and in spite of every lie that he’d told and everything that he’d kept from Arthur, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Merlin was remorseful for those actions.  If he’d been bent on the destruction of Camelot, then he wouldn’t care that Arthur knew, and he wouldn’t be crying like this now.

 

Kneeling down on the ground beside Merlin, Arthur reached out and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.  Merlin started, jumping when his tear-stained eyes met Arthur’s, but he didn’t pull away.  However, he also didn’t stop crying, and Arthur wanted nothing more than for that sound to go away.  So without another thought, Arthur gently pulled Merlin into his arms, holding him tightly as though he were a small child who needed protection.  After a few moments the other man shifted slightly, turning his face further into Arthur’s chest as Arthur rubbed soothing circles down his back.

 

Several minutes passed before Merlin finally stopped crying altogether, and when he eventually pulled free of Arthur’s grip, he averted his eyes, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured weakly, voice scratchy and hoarse from crying.

 

Arthur sighed and leaned back on his heels.  “I know you are,” he replied a couple of moments later.

 

They sat in silence then, breathing slowly, thoughtfully.  Neither felt in any rush to move, and so they didn’t for many minutes.

 

Merlin was the first one to finally speak.  “I know I lied to you, but you have to know that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you Arthur.  No matter what you decide about me, please believe that.”

 

The look of sheer desperation in his eyes was more than enough for Arthur to know that he was, in fact, telling the truth.  Arthur was still angry at being lied to, and he truly didn’t know yet how to react to the fact that he was a sorcerer, but that didn’t change the fact that Merlin was still one of the most important people in Arthur’s life, and that Arthur cared very deeply for him. 

 

“I believe you,” Arthur told him eventually and fought the urge to reach out and touch him.

 

Merlin smiled then, red-faced and covered in tears and dirt, but he looked happy.  It was a look that Arthur hadn’t seen in a long time.

 

“We should probably head back and get you cleaned up,” Arthur finally suggested, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his trousers.  He offered a hand to Merlin, who stared at it for a few seconds before accepting the assistance.  They walked back towards Merlin’s home side by side in silence.

 

*               *               *               *               *

 

That evening, Merlin and Arthur ended up sleeping in the barn, not unlike how they had the first time they’d both been in Ealdor at the same time.  Except the only difference was that Gwen and Morgana were no longer sleeping practically next to them.

 

_“Arthur, you can take my bed,” Hunith had offered shortly after they’d finished eating dinner._

_But Arthur shook his head adamantly, placing a dry dish down on the table in front of him.  “No, Hunith, I can’t possibly do that.”_

_She’d simply smiled at him in that loving Motherly way that Arthur had always wished for but never really was able to experience himself.  “Don’t be silly.  You’re my guest,” she’d insisted with a flip of her wrist._

_“Yes, but a completely unexpected one,” he’d tried again, glancing at Merlin for some back-up._

_“A guest is a guest, unexpected or not,” came her clever retort, and Arthur proceeded to stare pointedly at Merlin who was still washing the last remaining dishes from dinner._

_“Mum,” Merlin finally chimed in, “Arthur can be as stubborn as an ass.  It’s not worth arguing with him over it.  Why doesn’t he just sleep in the barn like last time?  There’s even fresh hay.”_

_Arthur shot Merlin a particularly nasty scowl, which seemed to have absolutely no effect on the warlock whatsoever.  “Yes, thank you Merlin.”  To Hunith he said, “The barn will be fine, I assure you.  Thank you for your hospitality, Hunith.”_

_She studied him for a moment before nodding her assent.  “All right, then it’s settled.”_

_“Except I think that Merlin should join me as well.  In case I need anything during the night,” Arthur added as an afterthought and tossed a satisfied smirk in his manservant’s direction._

 

Arthur now found himself burrowing under blankets that had been laid on top of a pile of hay.  It certainly wasn’t the standard of accommodation he was accustomed to, but it wasn’t so bad, all things considered.  Merlin lay a few feet away from Arthur, also wrapped up in blankets.  Arthur was both physically exhausted from his journey, as well as mentally exhausted from the events of the day, but he inexplicably found himself more fascinated with watching Merlin a few feet away, back facing the Prince.  He watched as Merlin shifted several times in an attempt to find a comfortable position.  He stared at his right shoulder as it slowly rose and fell with each breath Merlin took.  He took note of the pale skin at the back of Merlin’s neck and was suddenly utterly curious about what it would feel like to kiss and suck at that expanse of skin.

 

Pushing aside the thought, he rolled onto his back and attempted to get comfortable.  After a few minutes, Arthur sat up and decided to try and rearrange the hay beneath his blankets.

 

“Do you need some help?” Merlin asked eventually, when it was obvious that Arthur was struggling with the task, but Arthur was never one to admit when he needed assistance, and he certainly wasn’t about to do so over some hay.

 

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own, Merlin,” he retorted firmly, pulling out a handful of hay and tossing it haphazardly to the side.  Merlin simply shrugged and pulled his blanket up higher.

 

A good five minutes later, Arthur finally gave up on the hay situation and decided that what he had was good enough for one night.  Getting back under his blankets and laying down once again, he noted the fascination with which Merlin watched his every movement.  He seemed to have something on his mind, but thus far had remained unusually silent.

 

“What is it?” Arthur asked several moments later, when it became clear that Merlin wasn’t going to say anything.

 

“It’s nothing…” Merlin told him softly.

 

But Arthur shook his head.  “No, don’t give me that.  Haven’t there been enough secrets already?  I want to know what it is that’s going through your thick skull at the moment.”

 

A soft laugh came from Merlin, though it didn’t sound particularly joyful.  “I just…  Sometimes I thought this day would never come.  Or when it did, that things would have turned out differently…”

 

A curious brow shot up Arthur’s forehead, though he doubted if Merlin could tell from where he lay.  “Differently how?”

 

Merlin shrugged, which looked somewhat amusing since he was lying on his side.  “Differently in that you would hate me for keeping this from you.  Or send me into exile.  Or have me beheaded for the practice of sorcery, either immediately or when we returned to Camelot.  There were a lot of options, really.”  He paused and seemed to bury further under his blankets, if that were even possible. 

 

“Of course, I suppose I can’t know for sure that you won’t do any of those things,” he muttered quietly…softly…almost as if he’d only meant the words for his own ears.

 

Arthur huffed an audible sigh of frustration.  “Make no mistake, Merlin.  I’m still furious with you, and I’m sure that will only get worse when we actually have a full conversation about this.  Look, I know I’m not always the easiest person to deal with.  But you have to know…” he paused, swallowed, collected his thoughts again.  “You have to know that I’d never allow anyone to hurt you.  Not my Father, not anyone.”

 

“I just figured that…  Well, I thought…”

 

“You thought what?” Arthur asked, hoping that he wouldn’t say what it seemed like he was going to say.

 

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head gently.  “I’m sorry,” he said instead of answering the question.  “I just feel like I’m always on the verge of facing my impending death...  I’ve never truly known what to expect when you found out about my magic.”  The sadness in his voice hit a chord with Arthur and he felt as if the wind had literally been knocked out of him.  Did Merlin really believe that he was going to turn him over to his Father when they returned to Camelot?

 

“Merlin,” Arthur said forcefully, and sat up.  Dragging his blankets behind him (because it was quite cold, in spite of the warmth of the day), Arthur closed the distance between them and only stopped when he was literally sitting right beside his manservant.  Merlin simply stared up at Arthur, wide-eyed and concerned, a mildly perplexed expression dancing across his features before he also sat up, facing the Prince.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur started again, and reached out to place a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder.  “No matter how mad I may be at you, I’d never allow anything to happen to you.  You need to believe that in the same way that you want me to believe you’d never hurt me with your magic.”

 

Merlin stares at Arthur long and hard, blue eyes piercing his in spite of the limited light in the barn.  Arthur thought he might be searching to see if Arthur really was being genuine, so he sat there quietly, simply staring back at the man in front of him.  A few breaths passed before Merlin seemed to reach a satisfactory conclusion, nodding his head once but never breaking eye contact.

 

“I know.  I believe you,” he said softly.  Then, “Thank you.”

 

Arthur nodded and smiled, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder briefly.  He knew he should probably move away from Merlin, but something about the air between them had changed in the past few minutes, and he felt anticipation begin to build in his belly.  In an attempt to break the already prolonged physical contact, Arthur trailed his hand lightly down Merlin’s chest, but instead of pulling away, his hand stopped to rest against the other man’s heart.  Arthur could feel the pounding of Merlin’s heartbeat beneath his hand, thrumming steadily, and he instinctively leaned in closer.  Merlin watched him through wild, excited eyes and they simply stared at one another, breathing heavily as the tension crackled between them.

 

He could feel Merlin’s breath coming out in short puffs against his cheek, and Arthur finally decided to close the gap between them, tugging Merlin forward by his tunic.  Merlin responded almost immediately, opening his mouth to Arthur and deepening the kiss as tongue ran over tongue and they explored each other’s mouths in a way that they’d been afraid to for so long.  He tasted both salty and sweet, almost how Arthur had imagined Merlin would taste when he’d dreamt of this moment.  Hands moved to tangle in each other’s hair as they revelled in the feel and taste of one another.

 

After a few minutes, Arthur dragged Merlin towards him, practically pulling the other man into his lap as he sought out more contact.  There had been too much space between their bodies and Arthur wanted none of that.  They broke apart briefly to pull some air into their lungs before continuing to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously, all hands and lips and soft moans.

 

“Too much clothing,” Arthur eventually murmured against Merlin’s lips.  He pulled away for only as long as it took to remove their tunics and toss them aside, then pulled Merlin back into his arms, relishing the feel of skin against skin.

 

Arthur kissed Merlin hungrily, teasing and sucking at his tongue and lips as his hands roamed up and down Merlin’s back and chest.  He heard Merlin moan softly and Arthur instinctively bucked his hips up against the man in his arms.  They both gasped as their cocks rubbed against each other through the fabric of their trousers, consumed by waves of pleasure and desire.  Placing a steadying hand against Merlin’s back to hold him in place, Arthur reached between them and rubbed the bulge in Merlin’s trousers teasingly.  The sharp intake of breath from Merlin momentarily halted their kissing, until he grabbed at Arthur’s hair and pulled him back against his mouth.

 

Arthur gently lowered Merlin down to the blanket and started trailing gentle kisses down his throat and neck, then moved down to his chest, pausing to carefully nip and suck at each nipple; taking care to give each one special attention.  “Gods Arthur,” Merlin moaned, writhing in pleasure beneath his caresses as he grasped at Arthur’s hair, holding on tightly.

 

Arthur continued his ministrations south until his mouth found itself at the strings of Merlin’s trousers.  Mischievously Arthur placed a soft kiss to the top of the bulge, holding Merlin’s hips down as he tried to buck up at the contact.  With a little smirk, Arthur pushed himself up and started to work at Merlin’s drawstrings, feeling his own arousal spike even more, though he wasn’t even sure if he could get any harder than he already was.

 

He had Merlin’s trousers untied and was about to slip them down his hips when he felt two hands come to rest atop his.  Shooting his gaze upwards, he glanced curiously into Merlin’s dark eyes.  Eyes that were suddenly tainted with worry and fear and something else Arthur couldn’t quite identify.

 

“What is it?” he asked, and was suddenly filled with a sense of dread.  What if he’d read the whole situation wrong and Merlin didn’t really want this as much as he did?  What if he told him to stop and leave him alone?  Arthur would of course respect Merlin’s wishes, but he felt his heart drop in his chest at the sudden spike of apprehension that filled him.

 

What Merlin said ended up being completely unexpected.  “What about Gwen?” he asked, voice carefully masked in spite of his ragged breathing.

 

“Guinevere?!” Arthur blurted out, only belatedly realising he’d said the words out loud.  “What _about_ Gwen?  And why are you asking about her now?”

 

“I just...  I need to know.  Before you and I...  Well, before we do anything,” Merlin told him, gesturing wildly between them at the words ‘ _do anything_.’

 

Arthur pushed past the fogginess in his brain to try and make sense of what Merlin was trying to say.  “You need to know what, Merlin?”

 

Merlin glanced down, almost as if he were embarrassed, before muttering in a barely audible voice, “If you’re in love with her.”

 

Arthur simply stared, dumfounded, at his half-naked servant.

 

“Because if you are, then I don’t want us to do this,” Merlin proceeded to explain.  “I mean, I do want us to do this.  Really very badly, actually.  But I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice, nor do I want to hurt a friend like that.  I might still do it anyway, because I’d rather have you once than never at all, but...  I just need to know.” 

 

Merlin closed his mouth and then shut his eyes, almost as if the thought of seeing what was going on in Arthur’s mind would be too much for him to bear.  Arthur took a steadying breath and tried to sort through where on earth Merlin was coming form.  Sure, he cared for Gwen.  And he had stated as much on more than one occasion.  The problem was that it was all far more complicated than Merlin understood and exceedingly convoluted.  What he felt for Guinevere ran deep, but it wasn’t something that could easily be explained with a few simple words.  The one thing he was certain of, though, was that he was not _in_ love with her, though he would admit that he felt both love and respect for her.  Arthur’s feelings for Merlin, on the other hand, were very clear and he knew precisely where he stood on that subject.  It was something he had attempted to quell over the past year, but in the end he’d realised that there was no point in pushing someone away who would always, inexplicably work his way back into Arthur’s heart.  The fact that Merlin was concerned about Gwen at a time like this spoke volumes about his true character, and Arthur felt his respect for the man grow even more.

 

Then there was the fact that Merlin clearly reciprocated Arthur’s feelings, and it suddenly changed everything.  This was dangerous territory to stray into in the best of times, never mind the other minor detail that Merlin was also a sorcerer.  But Arthur didn’t want to sort out all the details at the moment.  There would be time for that later.  Right now he was here with Merlin and for all the sorrow and despair that his friend had felt over the past couple of months, Arthur wanted to show him that there was still room for happiness, pleasure and love.

 

Reaching down, Arthur stroked Merlin’s cheek gently until he opened his eyes and finally met the Prince’s gaze.  “I don’t love Guinevere, all right?  I know it may seem like that, but it’s not true.  We can talk about this later, but just know that I’m not in love with her.”

 

Merlin shot him a dubious look as his brows knitted together thoughtfully.

 

“Do you think I’d honestly be here doing this with you if I felt that way about someone else?”  He paused for a moment.  “Look, maybe this isn’t what you need right now,” Arthur suggested reluctantly, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Merlin’s temple.  He didn’t want to have this conversation at this very moment, but if it was the only way to convince Merlin, then he supposed he’d have to just explain everything to him.

 

But Merlin shook his head.  “You don’t know what I need,” Merlin retorted, eyes dark and heady as he arched up, capturing Arthur’s mouth with his own in a surprisingly filthy open-mouthed kiss.  Arthur groaned and shifted so he was lying almost entirely on top of Merlin, pressing every inch of their bodies together and rocking his hips gently against Merlin’s.

 

“Do you even know what you need?” Arthur queried when they finally broke apart, breathless and panting into each other’s mouths.

 

“I need you Arthur.  Always you, only you.”

 

And in spite of all the unknowns still hanging between them, at that very moment in time, it was enough.


End file.
